Saving John
by Looselybasedon
Summary: Sherlock returns from the dead to find John Watson once more in terrible danger ! Can he save John again ? A not very serious plot featuring a shocking Mycroft eating chips scene. Sort of companion to Big Brother Is Watching You . Complete


Saving John

Sherlock watched the two figures with increasing frustration. Their body language was clear, John was laughing, laughing his just this side of hysteria laugh, the one that made him literally cry with laughter. Apparently his companion had just said something totally hilarious. That puzzled Sherlock.

They were very much at ease with each other as they sat side by side in the restaurant booth. John's dinner partner had just lean in and nicked a chip off John's plate. John playfully slapped at the hand and was clearly encouraging his companion to get a plate of their own. From his position Sherlock could not see the reaction of John's dinner guest but he could see John's reaction to what ever he said. The look of affection mixed with exasperation was familiar to Sherlock, but he had thought that he was the only person John looked at that way. John rolled his eyes and with a shrug which clearly showed resignation not irritation, leaned back against the leather upholstery, leaving his remaining chips to his companion. His eyes were still fixed on the figure beside him who was apparently now using the chips as props to illustrate some long complex story with multiple characters. He looked relaxed, the look of sorrow Sherlock had observed on his face so often recently had smoothed out into the more familiar half smile that Sherlock remembered. As the story apparently reached some climax and the chips were dispatched with gusto, John stretched his arms across the back of the cushion in the booth. To a casual observer it would look like John 'I'm not gay' Watson had his arm casually around the man sitting beside him. Sherlock very much feared that John, his John was on a date. That was bad. Why was that bad, Sherlock asked himself but not liking the answers he ignored them.

He had of course, suspected some sort of romantic situation would take place this evening. He'd been watching John for quite some time now ever since he had got back to London. Sherlock told himself that this was perfectly normal behaviour. He was trying to pick the right moment, the right way to reveal that he was in fact, alive. This sort of thing couldn't be rushed into. Sherlock strongly suspected John was not going to make the whole thing easy on him. In fact, Sherlock suspected that John could get quite boring on the matter. And as eager as Sherlock was to get back to his old life, to start solving cases again, to be back in Baker Street with his blogger, he knew that when he came home properly he was going to have to do some explaining. And even worse maybe have to agree to a few changes to regain John's trust. He was pretty sure that the 'I was protecting you' argument would be given short shrift by his ex-soldier, medically trained , crack shot , bit handy in a fight, really not keen on being patronised, friend. The thought that he Sherlock Holmes might have to make a concerted effort to, oh be nicer to people in general and admit he had friends, who he needed, in particular, terrified him. But it could very well be the price John demanded from him. So he watched.

John had followed a boring and predicable routine for several weeks. Up and out of the flat by eight in the morning, into the clinic, a long day , walk home through the park, pausing to stop and feed some rather unappreciative ducks, back to the flat , dinner with Mrs Hudson then up to the flat where he watched TV until too late , bed and then same thing next morning. Once a week he meet Lestrade down the pub straight from work , they would sit together , chat quietly, drink no more than two pints and then go back to their homes. John looked ok, he showered, he shaved and he wore clean if dull clothing. But to Sherlock's eyes it looked like a life screaming with quiet desperation. This was no life for John Watson and Sherlock felt he might be the cause of this insipid half life John was leading. It made him feel bad.

But this Saturday everything was different, John had left the flat this evening wearing a rather nice new shirt, too much cologne and walked with something like his old -not quite a march with his arms swinging by his sides. He looked rested, content in a way Sherlock had not seen before during his previous observations. Sherlock trailing him at some distance had heard his friend humming a tune under his breath. He'd come here to a nice but casual restaurant, a little Sherlock judged outside John's normal price range. He'd been shown to a table in the main body of the building but politely insisted on taking a more secluded booth. Very romantic, Sherlock sniffed. John had then waited, smiling gently, until his 'date' had arrived and since then Sherlock had watched him transform back into his John Watson, the one who laughed and talked and showed every emotion on his face. Of course Sherlock was happy that John was happy (wasn't he? The quiet voice asked in his brain) Of course he was –but the absolutely galling thing to Sherlock was the identity of the person that had some how affected this change on John's demeanour. Why would John Watson be so please to see Mycroft Holmes?

His brother sat back having finished explaining the chip story to the doctor. He stretched his long legs out under the table. Sherlock had never seen Mycroft look quite so causal. He was even Sherlock was shocked to see, not wearing a tie. Through out the whole meal Sherlock was willing to bet that his brother hadn't plotted to over throw a single government instead he'd seemed content to listen to John and tell his own stories in return. Sherlock wished he had been able to sit closer to their table but knew he would risk revealing his presence. What did his blogger and his brother have to talk about? It must be him, what else would they have in common? But why on earth would they be looking so happy and so carefree if they were talking about him for god sake? As far as they knew he was dead – they should at least be a little sad, shouldn't they?

They were preparing to leave the restaurant now. Both men were standing and putting their jackets on still talking and laughing. John pulled his jacket on carelessly and Mycroft shrugged his coat on as if putting on a robe of state. As Sherlock watched he saw Mycroft lean over and right the collar of John's jacket for him. Only people very intimate with each other do causal touching like that and as Sherlock knew Mycroft just didn't do that sort of thing at all. It became crystal clear to Sherlock what he was seeing. Whilst he had been away, keeping John safe, Mycroft had seen his chance to move in and steal his only friend. Of course John won't see it, John was open with people, and he took them as they appeared to be. But Mycroft was incapable of genuine feelings, so he was moving in on John for some Machiavellian purpose. John would find himself trapped by the bonds of this friendship into playing a part in some complex and probably dangerous Mycroft plan.

Sherlock's blood boiled, how typical of his brother, to try and take the things that were Sherlock's. This was absolutely not on, he would be damned if he was going to let Mycroft steal his blogger. Sherlock calculated that if he took the short cut through the planetarium on to the fire escape at Madame Tussands he could be in the flat waiting, when John arrived home. That would settle Mycroft's plans, with a grim smile Sherlock spun on his heels and was gone into the night.

Mycroft smiled too.

'He's gone' he said to doctor. John sighed and sagged a little. Acting was exhausting.

'Gone, gone? Or gone to come back?' He queried.

Mycroft smiled a little more broadly now even as he straightened himself up and regained a little of his formality .

'Judging by the look on his face he's determined to get back to Baker Street before you and reappear dramatically into our lives again. So there will no more following you around, moping and never making himself known, John. No more dithering as he makes up his mind whether he wants to come back to us or not. He's going to save you again , this time from me.'

John smiled. 'Thank you Mycroft. Your plan, well, it was brilliant.'

Mycroft smiled his arch enemy smile.

'Well one does one's best, John.' He replied.

The two men left the restaurant and waited for Mycroft''s car to appear.

'He's an idiot isn't he?' John said shaking his head in exasperation.

'Oh yes' Mycroft agreed 'but he is our idiot.'

3


End file.
